


Opposite Day

by Duck_Life



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lies, M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24433759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Martin finds a unique solution to rescue Jon from the Spiral.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	Opposite Day

" _ You  _ said he couldn't even enter your hallways."

"And that was the truth," Helen sighs, irritatedly brushing her curls out of her face. "But I never said anything about the hallways entering  _ him _ ."

They’re somewhere between the End and the Eye, in the middle of nowhere, at the center of everything. They’re in, of all places, the tattered remains of a furniture store. Fake rooms for fake families fill the space, sinks with no water, cardboard computers and blank-paged books. 

Jon has been staring at a blank wall for… well, long enough to make Martin nervous. He’d gotten used to Jon digging up fresh horrors and spilling them into the tape recorder— as used to it as he  _ can _ , anyway— but it became clear pretty quickly that this was worse than just another statement on a world gone wrong.

For one thing, Jon hasn’t said anything. His tape recorder isn’t even on. Martin had wandered the store, expecting Jon to start monologuing at any moment, but nothing happened. When he’d come back, Jon was still sitting, still and silent, staring at the wall. 

Martin asked him what he was doing, tried to get his attention, but it seemed like Jon was somewhere else. Martin grabbed him, shook him, but Jon didn’t react at all. Eventually Martin noticed how his pupils had become pinwheels, spinning and spiraling, seeing nothing. 

It was around then that Martin started knocking on every door in the building, shouting for Helen.

“So, so, what,” Martin says, “the Spiral has… possessed him?” 

Helen shrugs. “Maybe.”

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Martin repeats, seething. “You don’t just…  _ know _ ?” 

“Well, alright, why don’t you tell me what everyone who’s ever been touched by the Lonely is doing right now, at this second?” Helen says. “No, Martin, I  _ don’t _ just ‘know.’ I’m the Distortion, yes, but that’s only a facet of the Spiral itself. There are other… other  _ things _ , other monsters out there with a vested interest in seeing the precious child of vision reduced to… Well.” 

Her gaze skews down to Jon, still slumped in the chair, eyes open and swirling, staring at nothing. 

“So,” Martin says, bracing himself to be shoved into an endless corridor, “so… this definitely isn’t…  _ you _ . Right?”

Helen just gives him a withering look. “Why would this be fun for me?” she says. “The Archivist just sitting there, doing nothing? Yawn.”

“Okay,” Martin sighs. “So… so  _ why _ would the Spiral— or, or some part of the Spiral do this?” 

"In much the way you cannot see without eyes, you cannot know without a mind," Helen points out. "There are many, many things in this new world who would like to see the Archivist eliminated." 

“He’s losing his mind?” Martin says, his chest constricting as he tries to grapple with what she just said.

Again, Helen shrugs. “Maybe. Who knows? You will call me if he does anything amusing, won’t you?” 

“Helen!” Martin calls, but she’s already striding toward a new door that’s materialized out of nowhere. “Helen, wait.”

“I can’t help you,” Helen says. “And even if I could, I don’t know if I want to. Sweet  _ Jon _ doesn’t even like me, does he?” 

Martin splutters. “So, what, you’re just going to let him… die?” 

“He won’t die.” Helen slides an overlarge pair of sunglasses over her face. “That’s probably the scariest part, really.” And then she’s gone, the door disappearing behind her. Martin swears and chucks a throw pillow at the bare expanse of wall. 

Jon does nothing, says nothing, sees nothing. 

* * *

He stays that way for a long while, and when his condition changes it’s sudden— and harsh. His demeanor shifts from listless to horrified. “Jon? Jon,” Martin says, crouching over him, grasping both his hands. “It’s okay. You’re safe— well, you know, sort of. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

Jon lets out a terrible noise, a broken wail, before jerking out of Martin’s grip and hugging his knees to his chest. And Martin can only stare, wishing desperately he knew how to snap Jon out of this. 

* * *

Martin presses another cup to Jon’s lips, willing him to drink. Sometimes, it feels like he can almost make it happen, can just nearly picture Jon taking the cup in his own hands and sipping, can just nearly make the picture true. 

But it never happens. He flinches when Martin touches him, jumps when he hears the sound of the cup being set down on the side table. If the world still made sense, he’d be in danger of dehydrating. As it is, he’ll just stay like… this. Trapped. Tortured. While Martin watches him fall apart. 

Everything he’s been doing, struggling to help Jon— caring for him, bringing him water, trying to soothe him when whatever he’s seeing makes him scream— Martin knows, of course he knows, exactly what it all reminds him of. What role he’s slipping right back into, as easily as he might slip into a well-worn sweater. 

It’s different, though. His mother had always looked at him with so much… disdain.  _ Hate _ , Elias smirks somewhere in the back of his head. 

When Jon looks at him now, it’s like he doesn’t know who— or what— he’s seeing. 

So, it’s different. 

* * *

“He doesn’t  _ like _ flowers,” Jon gasps, hoarse and terrified. Martin hurries to his side, crouching next to the chair. “He  _ doesn’t _ .” 

“Jon, it’s okay,” Martin says. “It’s—”

But his words only seem to make Jon even more afraid. He curls in on himself, like he’s trying to become as small as possible. Like the Spiral, or whatever he’s seeing in Martin’s place, can’t get him if he hides well enough. 

But… still. Something. Martin tries to think past the haze of concern and gnawing heartache to the conclusion that’s hovering there, just out of reach. Jon can  _ hear _ him, can feel him when he tries to hold his hand. He’s aware of  _ something. _

Of course, knowing the Spiral, it’s probably something horrible. Something worse than endless corridors and mirror mazes… something much, much worse than a safe, warm room and a worried boyfriend. 

How did the nightmares become worse than the reality? It’s a refreshing change, at least, Martin thinks bitterly. 

Still. 

“It’s all twisted, isn’t it,” Martin says softly, mind spinning. “Whatever you’re seeing and hearing, it gets all… twisted. Inverted.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything. 

* * *

The ruined world spins on around them. Martin makes tea and wanders through the unlived-in model rooms of the furniture store, never straying too far from Jon’s side. On one occasion, as he peers into a bland imitation of a family room, devoid of any family or warmth, Martin feels the old familiar fog creep back in. 

He hurries back to Jon. Lost, spiraling company is better than no company at all. “You’re not alone,” he says, to himself as much as to Jon. 

Jon lets out a quiet sob. Like… like he’s hearing the exact opposite.  _ You’re alone. No one’s here. Give up _ . 

That is the Spiral’s game, isn’t it? Lies and deception. 

And Martin gets an idea. 

He leans closer to Jon, unsure whether he’s about to do something completely brilliant or outrageously cruel. Only one way to find out. 

“Jon,” he says, “I’m not here for you.” 

No reaction— but Jon doesn’t move away when Martin shifts closer. 

“You’re all alone,” Martin continues. “I’m not trying to help you. I don’t even  _ want  _ to help you.” 

The awful falsehoods burn like acid on their way out, but… Is he imagining it, or has Jon’s breathing changed? The listless, rattling gasps have become… steadier? His gaze is still so far away, though. 

Martin rasps in a deep breath, wondering if he can even bring himself to say it. “Jon… I don’t love you. Matter of fact, I… I  _ hate _ you. You’re the worst. And I don’t care what happens to you.” 

And then Jon  _ sobs _ , but it sounds less like a cry of despair and more like the gasping inhalation of a diver resurfacing. His hand fumbles wildly out, grasping, and Martin grabs it and holds tight. 

“I’m here,” Martin says, and then stammers— “Sorry, I mean, I mean, I’m  _ not _ here. You’re  _ not _ going to be alright. I’m  _ not _ holding your hand.” 

“Martin?” Jon says, so quietly. 

“Nope,” Martin says. 

“ _ Martin _ .” 

“You can hear me?” Martin says, looking into Jon’s eyes. They’ve stopped twisting and spinning, and just look forward, wide and earnest.  _ Seeing  _ him. “Really, properly hear me?” 

“I— yes,” Jon says. “Yes. I can hear you.” 

“You’re back?”

“I’m back, Martin,” he says, leaning into Martin’s touch. “I’m back. I’m okay.”

And that’s the truth. 


End file.
